


Once is Coincidence, Fives Times Means You Should Only Use the Plastic Cups

by Piplover



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Gen, Stephen is clumsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 21:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15495054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piplover/pseuds/Piplover
Summary: Some days, Stephen's hands work about as well as oven mitts.  He grows to accept the fact that he is, in fact, good at breaking things.





	Once is Coincidence, Fives Times Means You Should Only Use the Plastic Cups

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-ed, please let me know, gently, if you find any errors.

1  


The first time it happens he’s horrified and appalled at himself. The vase is ancient, fragile as spun sugar with a thousand miniscule cracks already splintering the faint pigment of its design. He had just meant to take its measure, a magical handshake if you will, when his hand had spasmed and sent the faintly glowing vase crashing to the floor. 

No one had come running to find out what catastrophe he had enacted, and with shaking hands he had reversed time enough to reassemble the pieces good as new. The vase had felt vaguely confused, then amused as the Master of the Sanctum apologized profusely. 800 years of existing, as well as the magic it had absorbed over the centuries, had given the vase a blasé attitude about its purpose in life and existence.  


2  


The second time it happened, Wong was present. 

The two had spent the day going over a particularly ancient spell, one that originated about the same time as the vase, and in roughly the same location of its creation. Once again, Stephen had only meant to lay the barest of touches against the dry, faintly orange pigment, just enough to enquire if the vase had any helpful information. As before, though, his hands spasmed at just the wrong moment, and the vase crashed to the floor in an almost gleeful arc before bursting into a thousand pieces. 

For a moment absolute silence reigned, as though every artifact in attendance were shocked at the sudden death. 

Wong took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as Stephen stared in frozen horror at the mess by his feet. 

“The Vase of Quetzalcoatl,” Wong murmured, crouching down to inspect the fragments. “A very rare relic of the Classic Mayan era.” He sighed again, the only sign of his sorrow at the loss, and stood up slowly. He took in Stephen’s horrified expression, his still frozen stance, and the way his hands hovered uselessly over the mess. “Things happen, Stephen,” he said softly, placing his fingers on the doctor’s shoulder in sympathy before heading towards the kitchen, presumably to find a broom.

Stephen finally took in a deep breath, inhaling the scents of old clay and dust, knowledge and magic. Before he could second guess himself, he quickly turned back time and reassembled the broken vase, watching in relief as it settled once more on its pedestal. 

Wong came back into the room with a broom and dustpan a moment later, stared at the vase with a blank expression, then turned a disapproving glare towards Stephen. Stephen blinked innocently at him, as though he couldn’t understand how the vase had become fully reassembled and good as new, nope, no idea, really.

Another moment passed before Wong sighed and turned back to the kitchen.  


3  


The third time it happened, it really wasn’t Stephen’s fault. 

The creature he had chased out of one of the seldom used linen closets was running rampant through the sanctum, cackling like, well, like the goblin it probably was. Stephen cursed as it ran into the relic room and then cursed again at the sound of crashing and breaking glass.

“Enough!” he finally bellowed, throwing out a net spell and catching the still giggling creature with glowing strands of deep amber. 

As he drew nearer he could see that it was, indeed, a house goblin. A fairly benign and harmless creature, this one apparently had a sense of humor, as it giggled up at Stephen and waved long fingered hands at him through the net. 

“Yes, hello,” Stephen sighed, crouching down to get a better look, though keeping well away from its reach. The cloak, floating off to the side and watching idly, rippled in its own version of laughter. The creature waved again, its long nose twitching in amusement as it kept its eyes on the Sanctum Master.

“What am I to do with you, hmmm?” Stephen asked, more to himself than the creature. It laughed again, high like a child’s, and waved its fingers as though it was having a fantastic time. “What were you doing in that closet?”

It burbled at him, eyes going large as it mimed catching and eating something. 

“You were eating moths?” Stephen asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips. The goblin nodded it’s wrinkled, leathery head, then pulled out of its scrap of chest fur a ripped and ragged moth wing. It offered it to the sorcerer earnestly, but he shook his head and motioned for it to keep its prize. “I’ve already had lunch,” Stephen told it seriously, and it nodded as though it understood, then shoved the wing into its mouth and chewed noisily. 

“How about a bargain?” Stephen asked, his voice dropping into a conspirational whisper, and the goblin cocked its head, listening. “There are many, many closets in this sanctum, and I can’t clean them all out. You can stay in whichever you prefer, so long as you keep all the closets free of moths and silverfish and don’t wander to other parts of the Sanctum. If you do, things like this may happen again. Agreed?” 

The goblin cocked its head the other way, as though considering, and then warbled a reply, nodding. Stephen nodded back and slowly stood from his crouch, fingers moving deftly as he released the net spell and the goblin shook itself all over, like a dog just coming out of a bath. It stood for a moment, looking around the relic room, and then made a sad chirrup as it pointed at the fragments of vase littering the ground.

“I’ll take care of that, don’t worry. Off to your closet now,” Stephen said, and made a shooing motion. 

The goblin cackled and took off, warbling and crooning to itself as it disappeared down a hallway.

Stephen turned to the cloak, hovering nearby and still radiating amusement, and shrugged. The cloak shrugged back and wandered over to the pedestal which had held the vase.

“Yes, I know,” Stephen sighed. 

Looking over his shoulder, as though to assure himself that Wong was nowhere in the vicinity, Stephen turned back time and the vase mended, perching once more in place of honor. 

“Sorry,” Stephen told it, and received the fleeting impression of wry amusement and the mental equivalent of a shrug.  


4  


The fourth time, the world was ending, and the Sanctum was devastated to nearly rubble. It was only the first attack of many, and by the end of three days of constant battle, New York was more ruin than buildings.

Wong stood by his side, a silent, steady presence as he did what he could to restore as much as possible before his energy flagged, and he collapsed. When he woke a week later, he was engulfed in warmth and softness, and recognized his own bed and the cloak draped securely around him, better than any security blanket. Wong sat by his side, reading quietly and sipping tea, as though nothing more momentous than a long nap had taken place. 

“Ah, good,” Wong said when he saw Stephen’s eyes open. He placed his teacup down and gently touched Stephen’s hand, fingers resting just above his wrist. “You depleted yourself almost to the point your body didn’t have the energy to keep breathing. Try not to do that again.”

Stephen grimaced as he shifted onto his side, wincing at the new aches and pains. 

“Next time the world is about to end I’ll take that into consideration,” he replied, and Wong smiled lopsidedly. 

“Did you know about the goblin in the linen closet? He was rather upset about the whole thing,” Wong continued, completely placid despite the topic.

“He eats the moths. He wasn’t too upset, was he?”

Stephen swung his legs over the side of the bed and then sat for a moment, as though to allow his body to adjust.

“He was a bit upset, but I gave him a few crickets and that seemed to set him at ease.”

Wong placed his hands under Stephen’s arms and helped him stand, waiting for him to find his balance before helping him shuffle to the bathroom. The cloak hovered nervously by his side, watching their progress with the nervous wariness of a mother watching her child walk for the first time. 

“Take a shower, you smell, and then we will have dinner. Tomorrow there is still much that needs to be cleaned. The Vase of Quetzalcoatl seemed particularly upset when you were brought in. You may wish to take a few minutes tonight to reassure the relics that you are still alive and well.” Wong patted Stephen’s shoulder before leaving him to his ablutions, the cloak darting into the bathroom before the door could close. 

5  


The fifth time is again purely Stephen’s fault, and as he watches the vase almost gleefully dive from the pedestal, he gets the feeling that the relic views each death as a game, now. Rather than feel ashamed of his shaking hands or his own clumsiness, he laughs as the vase crashes to the floor with a spectacular clatter. 

The cloak, hovering around his shoulders, looks at the mess and seems to ripple with laughter, as though this has become its favorite entertainment. Stephen absently runs his hand over the soft material and continues to laugh, his mirth sparking off the nearest relics until the entire room seems to pulse with joy. 

With a few quick gestures the vase is repaired and placed back on its pedestal, where it seems to quiver in giddy delight at having such a grand adventure. 

Stephen, daring now that the worst has happened, lets his fingers brush over the vase gently, stroking it as one may a cat. 

“Until next time,” he says, and laughs as the vase vibrates beneath his fingers. 

It seems the most fun an 800-year-old vase can have is experiencing reincarnation again and again. Stephen smiles as he walks away, smile gently tugging at his lips.


End file.
